


As the night gets colder and the nest gets warmer

by WillfullyMysterious



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha Bellamy Blake, Alpha rut, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bellamy is 33, Clarke is 18, Detective Bellamy Blake, F/M, Infidelity, Knotting, Married Bellamy Blake, Mating Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Neighbors, Nesting, Omega Clarke Griffin, Oral Sex, POV Bellamy Blake, Scenting, Slow Burn, Student Clarke Griffin, Vaginal Sex, dissatisfaction in a marriage, kind of, shitty parents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:16:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29770554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillfullyMysterious/pseuds/WillfullyMysterious
Summary: Married alpha Bellamy can’t stop thinking about his neighbor’s 18-year-old omega daughter.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 37
Kudos: 135





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crazy2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazy2/gifts).



> So I was planning on posting this some time next week after wrapping up Midnight Wake-up Call, but I got too excited to wait. Midnight Wake-up Call will be updated before the end of this week, so I figure I'll just get a head start on this fic that's been screaming at me to post. 
> 
> I have no exact timeline for when the chapters will be updated. I have the first few done already and outlines for the others, but hopefully I'll be able to post relatively frequently. Because this story is not quite finished on my side, TAGS ARE SUBJECT TO CHANGE.
> 
> Finally, I'd like to thank Crazy2 for giving me the idea for this fic. It was your request for alpha Bellamy that got me started on this story. Originally I was only going to do a one-shot of alpha Bellamy in rut, but then this story just exploded and now it's a much bigger thing than I expected. So, thank you, and I hope you like it.

It’s early, not even 6am, when the summer sun rises and Bellamy steps outside to drink his coffee— alpha instincts coming alive at the fresh smell of pine trees in his yard and mist on his grass. He sips the black liquid from his mug, having long become used to the plain bitterness of it, and takes a deep breath, lungs filling with the pleasant smell of nature. His skin is becoming warm under the bright August morning sunshine. Right now, he feels invigorated. Satisfied. His alpha preens.

_mmm. my territory. **mine**. other alphas stay away._

Holding his mug, Bellamy stretches his arms a bit before taking a seat on one of his porch’s rickety wooden chairs and looks around, ensuring nothing is out of the ordinary and that no one is encroaching on his property. Instinctively, his eyes scan the entirety of his front yard and the cul-de-sac he resides in, searching for any possible threats and feeling relief when he finds the only movement to be a revolving sprinkler across the street. The cul-de-sac is quiet at this hour, just how Bellamy prefers it. He reclines in his chair slightly, the alpha in him relaxing considerably with the knowledge that there are no threats lurking nearby to try and claim _his_ territory—that is until a door on his left side clicks open in the distance. Quickly, his ears perk and his eyes narrow. His skin prickles with irritation.

_too early. not safe. go back inside, beta._

**_Griffin_** –Bellamy’s rational mind corrects him, trying to mitigate his alpha senses from taking full control of his thoughts, something harder for him to do at this time of morning before he’s taken his suppressants. He sits up straighter anyway, body bristling with awareness, as he watches his neighbor, Jake Griffin, lock his front door and walk down his porch steps before breaking out into a jog down the street. Feet pound on the pavement, and Bellamy’s alpha grumbles at the sound of it, wishing to return to the quiet from before. But nonetheless he smiles at Mr. Griffin anyway, even lifts his arm to wave at him in the fake, overly friendly way that neighbors do –something which he’s only learned about since moving into the suburbs, because people sure as hell didn’t do it in the slum where he grew up. No, they were too busy trying to just get by to force pleasantries with each other.

Jake of course, being the stereotypical upper middle-class husband and father living in suburbia that he is, smiles and waves back at him, and Bellamy almost laughs at the irony, because he knows _exactly_ what that two-faced beta prick really thinks of him. But still, he plays nice anyway – _because suburbs._

Thankfully, Jake’s footsteps get lighter with each passing second, and soon the neighborhood is quiet again, just how he likes it. It’s 5:45 now. He can stay out here another 15 minutes before he needs to take his suppressants and get ready for work. _Alphissive,_ the drug is called. He’s been taking it twice daily for the last 8 years. 1 pill in the morning and 1 at night with 12 hours between doses. It does work at least, to curb his more primitive alpha instincts such as territoriality and compulsion to scent anything he finds–instincts which would be frowned upon in his work as a police detective. It’s also the only reason he and his wife, Roma, were even allowed to buy a home in this beta dominated community, as their HOA requires demi-humans to be registered with the state _and_ be able to prove prescribed suppression of their respective designation. The pills however unfortunately, do little to rein in his inner alpha monologue or desire to assert dominance, something Bellamy has been in a constant battle with himself over since he presented at the late age of 25.

Still, he takes the pills, appreciative of any sort of help he can get in the ongoing fight between himself and the alpha clawing inside him.

Without _alphissive_ , it’s easy for him to become blinded by instinct.

At 6, Bellamy goes back inside, registration bracelet jangling on his wrist when he cracks open the pill bottle and swallows one with the last sip of his coffee. He showers afterward, growling at the cold temperature until his suppressants starts to kick in, leaving him with only a mild displeasure as he scrubs his scalp. He’s almost on his way out the door—has his sunglasses, jacket, badge and gun— when Roma calls out from their bedroom, voice sounding scratchy and tired.

“Don’t forget babe, dinner at the Griffin’s tonight. 7 o’clock, don’t come home late.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, dear.” He lies –knowing how much he _desperately_ wishes he could skip out on this monthly occurrence—just before closing the door behind him and starting up his truck. He spends the entire commute gripping his steering wheel, a scowl etched on his face from knowing tonight he’ll have to suffer through another dinner with his neighbors and their kids. Abby and Jake Griffin: Two self-important, insolent betas who like to pride themselves over how inclusive they are by having a minority designation acquaintance –all the while never failing to make passive aggressive comments and treating him as condescendingly as possible. Any other day, they’d wouldn’t deign themselves by conversing with him directly. _Bellamy Blake:_ some poor kid from the ghetto who managed to climb the class ladder by sheer luck of his designation, rather than just being born into an upper middle class beta family like everyone else on this street. They normally talk to Roma instead of him, preferring her like designation. They _always_ make all sorts of rude and invasive comments about how hard it must be for a beta like herself to be married to an alpha –or about how _relieved_ they are to have someone like her there to tell them all about demi-humans and their strange “sexual proclivities”.

Or so they supposedly called it.

Bellamy scoffs to himself in the car, just as he’s pulling into the parking lot of his precinct’s police station. _Yeah right. More like they’re too scared to make disrespectful comments to an alpha in a one-on-one conversation._ No, Jake and Abby very much like antagonizing him in a room filled with their families just subtly enough so that he’ll look like an asshole if he ever gives them any push-back.

He locks his vehicle and heads into work, his dulled alpha instincts mildly stirring inside him.

_disrespectful betas. go remind them who the alpha is._

They probably enjoy it, he suspects. Patronizing an alpha in however petty of a manner they can. Bellamy attends these dinners for Roma’s sake, knowing her and Abby have developed a friendship of sorts in the four years since the two of them moved into the cul-de-sac. But even after all this time, he’s never found himself able to relax or feel comfortable in their home, much less be on the receiving end of their supposed ‘hospitality’.

Years ago, the Griffin’s fought hard against the HOA to keep Bellamy out of the neighborhood, claiming that an alpha living next to them could be dangerous for all the nearby families. He and Roma almost couldn’t close on the house, until she got the bright idea of knocking on the Griffin’s door directly and chatting up with Abby, who apparently did not know the “strange alpha male threatening to disturb peace in the community” had a beta for a wife. Since then, his wife has always been friendly with their uppity and frankly, discriminatory neighbors, keeping a smile and happy tone whenever they go over to dinner. But Bellamy knows it’s a façade—this welcoming front the Griffin’s put up. He’s learned to smile as well, in spite of the anxiety that creeps up his spine and puts his stomach in knots whenever he’s over there. He hates people like Jake and Abby Griffin. They’re just another pair of elitist betas trying to act like they’re superior, simply because they don’t have increased hormone levels or heightened senses.

They think he doesn’t know either –that it’s _them_ who threaten to sue over anything they suspect might be a policy violation with the HOA’s conditions for him living here. Anytime they think his yearly physical was conducted late, or that he’s skipping suppressants they report it back to the association, still desperate to purge their community of him after he’s lived there for _four_ years and has long since proven himself to be in control of his hormones.

_betas need to know who their alpha is—keep them in line._

Sure, the Griffin’s are friendly with him and Roma—plastering smiles on their faces that don’t meet their eyes whenever they invite them over to dinner. It’s all a rouse, this kind neighborly show they put on. They welcome him and Roma into their home under the guise of being friendly hosts. They feed them, pour wine in their glasses, and prattle on about their over-achieving Ivy-League bound kids and all the while they’re really just _checking on him_. Waiting for Bellamy to slip up and confess something damning that they can use against him the next time they appeal to the HOA.

He knows that Roma thinks he’s paranoid, exhibiting typical alpha behavior when inside territory he hasn’t marked as his own. She insists Abby has apologized for the way her and her husband behaved, that they were only just looking out for their children’s best interests. On one hand, Bellamy would like to believe it—that his beta neighbors really are just overprotective and were only apprehensive because of all the terrible things circulating on the news about alphas attacking betas and the occasional omega, his own designation’s equally rare and elusive counterpart. He wants so desperately to trust it—to trust Roma. But whenever he tries, something deep, and instinctual inside him raises its hackles, ready to fight and protect himself. Protect what’s _his._ Because the biology inside him won’t let him break the natural order and respect betas who have not respected him first. No, he won’t give the Griffin’s the benefit of the doubt. Not when he has so much reason not to trust them, alpha voice aside.

The transgressions of the Griffin family circle about in his head longer than he’d like to admit, and eventually the hours go by on his shift, until he finds himself back in the parking lot and unlocking his truck. He puts the key in the ignition and pops his evening suppressant, counting down the cruel, anxiety inducing minutes until he will be sitting down and smiling at the people who hate him and their perfect children, who probably have no idea how duplicitous their parents are.

He blows air out his lips, fingers gripping the steering wheel hard enough to restrict blood flow and sets course for home.

To the Griffin house.

* * *

It’s 6:55 right now, just a few minutes before Bellamy and Roma are expected for dinner over at Jake and Abby’s. The street is quiet, with neither him nor his wife saying anything as they walk the couple hundred feet from their green ranch-style house towards the Griffin’s white two-story, shoes clicking on the sidewalk. Bellamy carries a bottle of high-end cabernet in his hand –picked it up on his way home from work— hoping that it’ll pair well with whatever Jake has decided to cook tonight. He hates Jake, but the alpha inside him is always trying to provide and impress. As much as he tries to fight it, his alpha won’t let him bring _nothing_.

They stop at the steps, not even looking at each other, and Bellamy immediately hesitates, his spine tingling with the subtle hint of instinct.

_unmarked territory, no alphas around. scent. claim. make mine!_

For a moment, the voice in his head is loud and tempting, making him think for the briefest of seconds that scenting the premise to keep other alphas away is actually a good idea. Thankfully however, the thought passes like a fleeting shadow, and Bellamy manages to make it appear as if he’s just checking his black button-down shirt for wrinkles.

_no, not mine._ He reminds himself, suppressants keeping his rational side in control. _cannot claim. will not claim._

In his peripheral, Bellamy watches his wife glance at him skeptically before ringing the bell, her brown hair tucked back in an elegant ponytail. She knows what these dinners do to him, how much he hates them. He can smell the vague flicker of annoyance dance over her dull beta scent, and he knows that after 9 years of marriage, 8 of which he spent as a demi-human, that Roma gets tired of his irrational alpha emotions.

He tries to pretend it doesn’t bother him.

“Remember Bellamy, just relax. They’re not as bad as you think.”

She’s trying to sound reassuring he thinks, but all Bellamy can hear is frustration. He clutches the wine tighter, irritated over her so called ‘advice’, but he doesn’t have time to think of a response before the dark blue front door to the Griffin’s swings open and they’re greeted by Jake and Abby’s adopted son, Jasper.

“Oh hey Mr. and Mrs. Blake, uh—come on in, dinner is almost ready.”

The 15-year-old smiles and chuckles a bit awkwardly, as he shuffles to the side to allow Bellamy and Roma inside into the newly painted foyer. Jasper has always been friendly, even though he’s a bit of a strange kid. Hasn’t presented yet, but Bellamy imagines he’ll be a beta, given the kid’s demeanor and easy-going attitude. It’s most common for people to present as beta anyway, instead of alpha or omega –designations which only make up about 10% of the world’s population.

It is possible however, that Bellamy could be wrong about Jasper. He thought he himself was a beta for years before he presented as an alpha. He was 25 when the weird incessant itching on his neck developed into a mating gland, and a knot suddenly started forming at the base of his cock whenever he was close to climax. The doctor said he was a late bloomer, and most likely presented later than others due to malnutrition he experienced as a child, which had hindered his tertiary sex development.

After 8 years he can still remember the bitterness that plagued him while he sat in the doctor’s office learning about suppressant options. The _rage_ he felt for months after learning that his shitty childhood was still affecting him as an adult –even though Roma had tried to convince him that his anger was only a result of his new alpha hormones. Hell, even now as he walks past the foyer of the Griffin house –after nearly a decade of living as an alpha—he can feel resentment stewing inside him over the disappointing truth of his delayed presentation. _Malnourishment. Of course._

Just one more thing to add onto the list of reasons why he hasn’t spoken to his mother in more than a decade.

“Mom, Dad, the Blakes are here!”

Jasper shouts towards the direction of the kitchen, where Bellamy assumes Abby and Jake are right now. Following Roma, he walks further into the house and towards the dining room, where he feels the tell-tale sign of anxiety creeping up his spine at the knowledge that he’s in someone else’s home. Only, this time, he also catches something else in the air. A strange and unfamiliar but subtle scent—almost like a warm blanket, recently washed with softener and fresh out of the dryer. It’s soft, barely there, but his alpha nose detects it instantly. Parting his lips, he lets it dance on the roof of his mouth, making it tingle just slightly –and after a few seconds he feels his anxiety ebb a tiny bit, finding a bizarre comfort in the aroma.

_mmm what is that?_

It seems that he can’t help but focus on it. Breathing through his mouth, he takes greedy lungful’s of air as he sits at the Griffin’s dining room table, desperately wishing he could to filter through all of the other scents in the house mingled with this one, so that he can only smell this one. _It’s relaxing him._ Too soon for his liking however, he’s pulled from his sniffing reverie, hearing sounds of chatter and walking until he spots Jake and Abby finally emerging from the kitchen –hands full with plates of pan seared steaks and vegetables—no doubt a good pairing choice for the cabernet.

He ignores the warm rush of satisfaction that flows through him at having chosen well for his betas.

**No** , he corrects himself.

_they are not **my** betas._

“Ah, Bellamy, Roma. How _great_ to see you two.”

As usual Jake greets them with one of his classic fake smiles as he sets the food down, trying to act subtle about the way his eyes travel cautiously to Bellamy, as if waiting for him to pounce like the brutish alpha he thinks he is. Abby and Roma hug each other excitedly on the other side of the table and sit down next to one another, chatting away about their jobs and laughing about something petty, leaving Jasper to sit in between Bellamy and Jake, who’s seated at the head of the table. The 5 of them sit down, and suddenly, his alpha senses tingle, a flicker of awareness sitting in his stomach as he looks around slightly confused.

_something’s wrong._

Curiously, Bellamy looks around and sniffs the air discreetly, trying to gauge where in the house the Griffin’s eldest daughter, Clarke, is currently.

He can smell her he thinks, vague threads of unpresented teenage female all around the house. The scent is just a hint though. It’s _old_ , almost like she hasn’t been here in a while. In fact, the new, unfamiliar scent from before fills his nostrils in a higher concentration than Clarke’s own scent, which is very odd.

He breathes in the scent of clean, fragrant blankets, still trying to pin the location of the young blonde girl, and confusion stirs in his mind at the weirdly pleasant mix. His alpha becomes apprehensive.

_where is Clarke?_

The room falls quiet, the cabernet is opened and poured, and everyone starts eating. Silverware clacks on plates, and Bellamy chews his steak, eyes peeking toward the empty chair at the other head of the table, gears turning in his mind and instincts alert. Almost as if noticing his line of sight, Abby addresses what feels like a giant elephant in the room—at least to him.

“Uh— you might have noticed Bellamy that Clarke will not be joining us for dinner tonight.” She says, chuckling slightly. “She’s been uh, visiting her grandmother in Polis for the last few weeks.”

_she’s in…Polis?_

Huh. It makes sense he supposes. After-all it wouldn’t be the first time Jake and Abby’s perfect little princess has opted out of their neighborly dinner nights. Normally on the nights that Clarke isn’t here she’s out with friends, or on dates. He’s seen her out in town before when he’s doing stuff for work or just running errands. She’s always got a circle of friends around her, and someone else with their _arm around her._ He doesn’t blame her. She’s young, _beautiful_ , and she’s only got one more year before she graduates high-school and has to face the realities of adulthood.

One time, about a year or two ago, Bellamy caught her and some girl making out behind the town bowling alley, back when he was trying to follow up on a lead in the middle of the night. She wasn’t officially out at the time, and he still remembers how scared she looked when she begged him not to tell her parents. Her bright blue little doe eyes appealed to the alpha inside him, the one desperate to protect those around him, and he softened towards the sweet but scared girl before him. At the time he simply smiled and let them be, walking past them so as to get to where he really needed to go, and even years later, neither of them have mentioned it again.

He never did tell Jake and Abby about that night, nor has he ever wanted to. He’s never had a problem with Clarke Griffin before –only her parents. And as satisfying as it probably would have been to see the looks on their faces when they found out their little girl wasn’t the perfect princess that they thought she was, he couldn’t do that to her. Not when she hadn’t done anything to him. Besides, the blush that covered her face the next several dinners afterward whenever she looked at him was enough for him.

By all accounts, the reasoning should make sense. At first glance, the Griffin’s have provided a suitable reason about why their daughter isn’t there with them tonight. His alpha should be satisfied with their excuse for her.

_However_

In all the years he’s known them, the Griffin’s have never once mentioned having relatives nearby in Polis. Nor have they ever spoken of any grandmother at all.

The nonchalance of Abby’s voice sounds forced to Bellamy’s ears. He listened to her; caught the hesitant pause behind a few of her words. He sees the way she grabs her wine and sips quickly –watches the nervous glance she throws over toward her husband, who returns it in kind, and immediately, he knows something’s off. He’s been a detective for years, and an alpha for almost as long.

He knows when someone is lying to him.

“Oh no, that’s too bad, Abby. I was really hoping she would maybe come to our house and water the plants next weekend when Bellamy and I go to visit his sister. I hope she’s having a good time though.”

Roma takes a sip from her wine glass and sighs regretfully, as if them not having a plant waterer two weeks from now is the most unfortunate outcome of the Griffin’s lying to his face. Perhaps in her book, it really is.

“Well maybe Clarke will be allowed to come home by then or maybe—ow, Mom!”

Jasper looks kind of sad almost, voice barely above a mumble when Abby kicks him from under the table, looking murderous, and instantly Bellamy’s agitation skyrockets. Mind running wild with doubts.

_betas are lying. they disrespect their alpha. make them submit. why can’t Clarke come home? where is Clarke? must find Clarke._

Bellamy tries to keep eating and ignores the way his skin itches from not knowing where she is. It’s unnerving, not knowing where she is or when she’ll be coming back, and sure enough after a few minutes it’s all he cares about, his alpha chanting her name like a mantra in his mind.

_find Clarke. go get Clarke. keep Clarke here. keep Clarke safe._

He forces himself to put down his wine glass, fearing that his grip will shatter it, and instead, he moves his hands to grip the cutlery, which he hopes isn’t as fragile. The betas at the table don’t understand what things like this do to his anxiety. _No one ever understands_. The alpha inside him _needs_ know where she is. She could be in danger, she could be—

_find Clarke. go get Clarke. keep Clarke here. keep Clarke safe._

“Bellamy, dear, are you okay?”

Roma asks him from her seat next to Abby, a curious look on her face. The rest of the table looks at him as well now, nervous expressions on their faces, and he takes a deep breath, trying desperately to calm himself before he freaks out in some way and really does give the Griffin’s something to tell the HOA. He feels hot, skin itching and mouth tingling. He doesn’t understand what’s happening. _There’s something happening_. Something inside this room is messing with his senses, making him spiral and reach for—

Blankets. Warm, fresh and clean blankets.

It’s back. That oddly comforting scent of laundered blankets. It’s subtle, but it’s here, all over this entire damn house. It fills his nostrils and goes straight into his brain, like a rapid acting drug. Only this time he doesn’t relax at the smell of it. Now, it makes him desperate for something, but he doesn’t know what. His suppressed alpha grips the corners of his mind, trying to tell him something, forcing primal instinct to rear its ugly head and make Bellamy realize what’s been lost on him so far tonight. He looks around at the betas next to him and grips the table. His alpha is screaming inside his head, louder than a lawnmower.

_find Clarke. go get Clarke. keep Clarke here. keep Clarke safe._

His head hurts now, but his alpha refuses to relent.

_go find omega. go get omega. keep omega here. keep omega safe. omega needs me. omega wants me to find her._

His eyes squeeze shut, trying to rear his instincts in.

_omega, omega, GO GET OMEGA._

Just a second later his eyes feel like they’re bulging out of his head, and Bellamy breaks into a sweat. Something shatters on the floor, a wine glass perhaps. but Bellamy can’t see it, and immediately he hears the betas around him clamor to clean it up. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. He can’t do anything but think about _her._ All because—because—

_because Clarke Griffin is an omega now._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very plot heavy chapter, but I wanted to build the world up more before we meet Clarke.

Bellamy’s overwhelmed right now. His senses are alert, but somehow distorted at the same time. His eyes can see clearly for a few seconds but lose focus quickly after. The voices of the betas near him are loud yet muffled. He can hear sound but can’t understand the words being spoken to him. He needs to recenter himself and come back to reality he knows, but his alpha is loud and roaring inside, filling his head with primal, instinctual thoughts.

_omega. **omega**. where is omega?_

“Bellamy? Are you listening to us?”

_her scent is near. want her. need to find her._

“Just give him a minute. I think he’s just a bit tense.”

_want to bite her. find her. claim her._

“It’s…been a long night, maybe we should just head home and talk to you guys about this another time.”

_spiteful betas, keeping omega from me._

“ **No**.” He finally speaks, and instantly the present world returns to him, snapping him back to the situation at hand—what really prompted his alpha to briefly take control over him.

_Clarke is staying at a heat hotel right now._

Has been for the last two weeks. That’s what the Griffin’s just told him anyway, as they sit outside together on the family’s expensive patio furniture, decorative lights and stars above making him able to see the sincerity on their usually shifty faces. It’s just the four of them now –Roma, Abby Jake, and himself. Jasper’s inside cleaning up from dinner, as per his parent’s orders. The glass sliding door is closed, so is every single window to the Griffin house. _Thank fuck._ Bellamy sits in a black outdoor lounge chair and tries to process what they’ve just said to him. He ignores their words of concern, voices sounding distant and muffled to his ears, and instead he takes large gulps of fresh air, trying desperately to clear the scent of unmated omega out of his lungs.

_mmm omega. go find. must bite. must claim._

He’s tense, body rigid. The gland on his neck is itching like crazy, and there’s a painfully familiar heat simmering in his lower stomach. Bellamy pushes the feeling down as much as he can, cringing internally at how easily Clarke’s changed scent has appealed to the alpha inside him.

_omega is in heat. go find omega. omega will give me pups._

As always, Bellamy’s inner alpha voice is loud inside his head, absolutely _beaming_ with delight at the thought of an unmated omega being near his territory, especially one that’s ripe, and ready for childbearing. But the primal thoughts he involuntarily conjures painfully clash with his rational ones, the ones reminding him that he’s older, _married_ , and cannot simply claim and impregnate an unwilling girl, especially one so young, and whose parents already hate him. The last fifteen minutes they’ve spent out here Bellamy has been trying and failing to rear his alpha in. _Fuck sake, get it together, Blake._

He feels himself becoming angrier the longer he sits here and doesn’t go to look for her, but still, he has to stay here, remind himself that the omega his alpha is practically clawing out of his skin to reach isn’t anywhere nearby. That her scent – _her lovely, calming scent_ — in his lungs is tricking the primitive side of his brain, unsettling his nerves.

**No** _._ He tells himself. Fists clenched and nostrils flared.

_omega’s not here. cannot claim. will not claim._

Ideally, the best way to counteract this violent wave of emotions lurking underneath would be to take a third suppressant. He _can_ do it occasionally, whenever he’s in close or prolonged proximity to an unmated omega, or he’s close to his own rut cycle. He _wants_ to take another _alphissive_ , to calm the state he’s currently riled up in—but he can’t. Not right now at least with Jake and Abby watching him, Roma too. Bellamy has spent years since his presentation trying to prove that he’s in control of himself, that he can be trusted around omegas, unmated or not. That he won’t get angry, and fight anyone who looks at him the wrong way or disrespects him on the job. He needs his suppressants, every demi-human does, but there’s ultimately only so much a pill can do for any alpha, not matter how strong the dose. And how Bellamy acts on suppressants reflects who he is as a brother, detective, and citizen in general.

He _can’t_ let them see how her scent affects him.

In the distance, Bellamy can see his house from the Griffin’s backyard, something that he’s both irritated and relieved by. On one hand, it vexes him to no end that if Jake and Abby wanted to, they could spy on him from their backyard. Anytime he’s out on his own patio grilling, or reading a book, or just _fucking existing_ , they can see him, try to gauge his emotions and what he’s feeling based on his demeanor. Sometimes, when he’s anxious, Bellamy likes to go out there to pace barefoot in the grass. The smell of trees, combined with the soft grass under his feet helps to calm him whenever he’s annoyed at something from work, or whenever he needs a break from Roma. He loves being in his backyard, and he loathes the realization that behavior he exhibits on his own property could potentially be weaponized against him one day.

On the other hand, however, the sight of his home is welcome in his eyes right now. It’s safe. Familiar. He focuses on it, and it relaxes the alpha inside him considerably.

_mmm. betas should come to **my** territory. speak to me there. let me claim this space. omega too._

The betas around him are now silent, waiting for his attention to return to the conversation at hand. This is one privilege the Griffin’s are allowing him tonight it would seem –control over how this information is delivered to him. As an alpha, and the only demi-human living in the neighborhood before now, he needs to hear this information, needs to know how exactly their daughter’s presentation will affect his life. Because it _will_. It’s a respect that’s been long overdue since he met Jake and Abby, one that’s owed to him by designation hierarchy alone. He resents that they’ve only granted it to him now during a time when it suits their needs. His alpha prickles at their defiance.

_disrespectful betas. defying me. hiding omega from me._

“How long have you known about this?”

He manages, looking away from them and focusing on his house. He can smell where they all are behind him, sitting as far away from him as possible. Smart choice, given how worked up he is. He can catch whiffs of discomfort on all 3 of them as they cling to his every word. He should try to ease up a bit, at least for Roma’s sake, who hasn’t done anything wrong. But he can’t. Instead, his alpha revels in the submission of the betas around him. It makes him feel powerful.

_betas should feel bad for lying to me. now they know who the alpha is._

“A little over 2 weeks now. We sent her to the place in Polis as soon as Abby and I started to suspect something was off.” Jake starts in. And it surprises Bellamy, hearing Jake speak first, when normally Abby has him by the balls. She’s always been the more controlling one from what he can tell, with Jake trailing behind her. He can only imagine how angry she’s going to be, if Jake ends up telling him more information than she wants to provide. The thought pleases him. _Fucking good._ She deserves to be pissed off after trying to get away with shit like this behind his back.

_doesn’t she know I’m a detective?_

“Anyway, a few days before we sent her, Clarke started feeling sick.” Jake continues, and Bellamy grimaces, feeling pained.

_of course, she was. poor, sweet, omega_. _must have been so scared. having no one to help her._

Bellamy knows what that’s like. All too well.

“She told us she was feverish, and she stayed in her room a lot, only coming out for food or to shower, which she did, multiple times each day. We checked on her occasionally, but we realized she was acting _differently_ than normal, not quite herself.” The detached way Jake talks about this aggravates him, makes his alpha bristle.

**_no_ ** _. she’s always been herself, beta. **this** is who she is. _

“And then one morning, Abby walked into her room and found her uh…in her closet, with blankets.”

Bellamy listens, anger now rolling off him in waves at the way Jake is speaking about this.

_“_ It’s called _nesting,_ Jake _._ You can say she was nesting _.”_ He snaps through his teeth, turning his body toward them so they can see the anger in his eyes, hoping that it’ll make them tread lightly with him. His alpha does _not_ feel like being reasonable tonight. No, what it wants to do is _snarl_ at them.

_how dare betas hide a **nesting** omega from their alpha._

“Uh- yes, well, I suppose that’s what she was doing. _Nesting_.”

Both Jake and Abby look incredibly uncomfortable at the vocabulary lesson Bellamy’s just provided, friendly neighborly smiles nowhere in sight on their faces, and once again he’s reminded of how repulsive they think demi-humans are, and their supposed “sexual proclivities”. They probably never once thought in a million years that they’d have an omega daughter.

Four years ago, back when he first met the Griffin’s, if he had known one of their children would present demi-human, he probably would have laughed about it, told them it serves them right for having such a superiority complex and shaming alphas and omegas whenever they get the chance. But now, with the reality of this situation staring him in the face, he’s not laughing. He’s _alarmed_ by how distant Jake’s eyes look as he’s talking about his daughter’s health, how embarrassed he is about it that he can’t even say the word _nesting_. Demi-human sexual health is seldom discussed by betas, with many of them claiming the idea of heats and knots make them uncomfortable. Most of what Bellamy’s learned about his own sexual health he had to research himself or ask his doctor. Because prior to his first rut, the only knowledge he even had of alpha/omega reproductive health was from the shamefully brief and vague lesson provided by his high school health class.

He had no idea how to prepare his body for rut when he first presented. His doctor advised Bellamy to stay at a heat hotel, which is a crude term for a facility in which unmated alphas and omegas go to when they are cycling. That is if they have nowhere safe that they can see them out alone or have no partner to help them. The facilities are kept separate of course, to avoid any alphas breaking into a room where an omega might be staying, and both are highly guarded by security teams consisting mostly of either mated alphas or especially strong betas. Heat hotels are relatively new in society, existing only in the last 30 years or so—most of Bellamy’s life. Growing up he remembers hearing the controversy behind them, the pushback from alphas who disliked being “cast to the side” by the majority beta population. And omegas, who still sadly struggled to get to local facilities, as the omega ones were far more expensive to stay in due to the “increased security level requirement” and the “heightened danger” staff put themselves in working there to protect omegas from any alphas who might break in. It’s bullshit of course. Just another way for businesses to capitalize on how much more vulnerable the omega population is compared to alphas. How much worse off omegas are without a safe place to stay during heat, and how much more at risk they are of being assaulted compared to alphas.

It makes him feel sick, thinking about all those at-risk omegas, with no where to go and no where to hide. But Bellamy does at least take comfort in the fact that money isn’t a problem for the Griffin’s, and that despite their obvious discomfort about it, they ensured Clarke could have her heat in a secure space far away from any alphas who might try to pursue her.

_mmm. omega’s in heat._

A flash of heat stirs in his abdomen, and immediately Bellamy regrets even thinking about the idea of her heat. He feels his alpha urging him to stand up and go find her, desperate to claim and impregnate a mate, not at all concerned with the guilty ramblings of his rational brain.

_omega is in heat now. she needs me. needs my knot._

He shakes his head and blinks rapidly, trying to clear his mind of the image of Clarke Griffin – ** _a literal teenage girl_** —writhing on top of a giant pile of blankets and pillows, skin hot and core wet, waiting for an alpha to come and stuff his cock inside her. Bite her. Make her his.

He hates himself for the way his cock stirs at the thought.

_find omega now, before she mates with another, stronger alpha._

**_no_ .** _no, no, no—_

The pull to go find her is more intense now, if not at the mention of her heat, then at the thought of another alpha finding her and taking her for himself. It’s incredible to him, how insecure he becomes at even the notion of a hypothetical alpha, when society so often depicts his designation as overly confident, cocksure and fearing no other. In reality it couldn’t be any further from the truth.

His alpha becomes anxious over the smallest things. Anytime he meets new people or goes into territory that doesn’t belong to him. Bellamy constantly watches his every move and checks the air for scents of other alphas who might be bigger, or stronger than him. An alpha who might come sweeping through and try to claim _his_ territory as their own. Every day he wakes up early and scans his property for unfamiliar sights or smells, and every night he walks the parameter and touches whatever he can –trees, or maybe the mailbox— scenting it so that any wandering alphas know to stay away from his space, to stay away from _him_.

Bellamy doesn’t like other alphas. Never has, even before he presented. It’s a biological thing, that they all tend to stay away from each other. He’s not as bad with mated alphas as he can be with unmated ones, mainly because he doesn’t feel the need to compete with them. But on the occasion that he _does_ have to work a case with mated alphas from other precincts, he’s forced to deal with the insecurity that inevitably seeps into him about how _this_ alpha was able to secure a mate while he hasn’t. Thankfully, Bellamy is the only alpha in his precinct, otherwise, he’d probably have to transfer. One thing that does satisfy him, if he’s being honest though, are the days at work when he gets to arrest an _unmated_ alpha and assert his authority over them. It’s a rush that’s better than alcohol or any drug on the street, not that he’d ever admit it to anyone.

“Heats are normally 4 or 5 days. Yet she’s been there for two weeks?” He can’t help but inquire, the detective in him finding the information bizarre.

“Well Clarke did call us a few days ago to say that she was… _better_.” Abby speaks before Jake can get the words out, but Bellamy doesn’t miss the way she determinedly avoids saying the word “heat”. Apparently, Abby’s already done with letting her husband take the reins on this conversation, not that he imagines she’ll treat the matter with any more dignity than Jake had. “However, we wanted to keep her there until we spoke to you.”

_get to the point beta, why is she there? what do you want?_

His irritation spikes further at this rigamarole the Griffin’s are playing at tonight. They’ve always been shady people, even before this. What else aren’t they telling him?

Abby starts again, and the slow, guarded tone of her voice only serves to unease him more. _stop beating around the bush._ “You see the place she’s staying, the one in Polis, it’s high end. And very… _discreet_ you might say.”

Now _that_ spikes his attention, and instantly he can feel his alpha rage inside him. He knows where this is going now. His stomach drops, anxiety prickling up his already anxious spine.

_no, no, no, don’t you **fucking** dare—_

For once, Bellamy and his alpha are in solidarity on this, because he knows all about the _discreet_ option certain heat hotels offer their more well-off clients. He’s seen it, all over the news and in the cases his coworkers are assigned.

Legally, omega heat protection facilities are required to report the names of any omegas who stay there, to make sure they are registered with the state, or will become registered if this is their first heat. All demi-humans are required to disclose their designation and mating status with the state. They get bracelets issued to them as well, so their state’s government can track them for when they apply to jobs, purchase homes, get married or commit crimes. They say it’s for statistical studies, to learn more about how alphas and omega interact with betas, but Bellamy knows its primary purpose is to track alphas, who are the most likely of all designations to commit violent crimes. It’s unfortunately also a way for schools and employers to quietly discriminate against omegas. Companies who don’t want to pay for heat/maternity leave can deliberately weed out the applications of omegas from their computer system, officially stating that they simply did not meet the establishment’s requirements for either student admission or the job description.

From a purely practical standpoint, Bellamy does know that the registration system can be helpful, at least for some things, such as tracking down dangerous criminals or protecting omegas. In his line of work however, he sees this system manipulated daily, doing more harm than good, and Bellamy knows better than anyone that every government system put in place to help people eventually turns into a double edge sword.

The registration system might have originated from the intention of improving society for all designations, but now it’s been morphed into something dark and sick. The system is more about _controlling_ alphas and omegas, rather than helping them.

“I see.” He speaks, eyes glancing down to his own registration bracelet, with the code _ALP-BLAKE-22945,_ and he sighs.

He doesn’t need to ask her what she means by discreet, not really, when so many crimes involving omegas start by loved ones hiding their designation. But he does anyway, willing to subject himself to the torture of hearing what the Griffin’s plan on doing now that their daughter is a demi-human.

It’s grueling to hear, but worse to ignore.

“Please” He says, guilt, and anxiety impossibly burrowing their knifes into his skin, likely to never be pulled out to heal. “specify how discreet exactly this establishment is.”

He’s seen it, all too often. Families who think they’re helping their child avoid the stigmas attached to being a demi-human. They pay exorbitant amounts of money to hide the truth of their child’s designation, and then wind up risking their health by obtaining black market suppressants, which can have any number of drastic side effects.

The Griffin’s might think they’re helping Clarke, when really, they’re doing the opposite.

_fucking betas._

His alpha stews inside, anger and bitterness threatening to boil over and lash out at them, make them sorry for ever even thinking of doing this to their daughter. Because now it’s all coming to him, why they’re telling him this, and what they want to ask him. He’s not here tonight because of their torturous monthly dinner, or even because he’s an alpha.

No, the Griffin’s wanted to speak with him before Clarke came home, because he’s works with the police.

The Griffin’s are going to break the law. And they want to know what kind of legal repercussions can come to them if they get caught –if he’ll be the one to turn them in.

They want an inside man –him specifically—to be complicit in their cover-up.


End file.
